Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots
by Miss Snazzy
Summary: Bella is struggling with her identity when two people arrive that could change her outlook on life. "Because in the land of the normals, you can't be 3-dimentional. You either are, or you aren't. There's no inbetween." AH. OOC. DISCONTINUED.
1. Looking for Scars

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just tinkering away with her creations.**

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Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

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My mother often described me as two different people. Those she told this to would laugh, and she would too, but there was always an uneasiness when she did, a shift of the eyes in my direction, like she was worried admitting it aloud would make it true. No one ever took her words seriously though, mistaking worry for sarcasm. Each part of me was the other's opposite in every way, she'd say, and although no one noticed, I could see that I was giving my mother cause for worry.

Unable to ignore it any longer, she took me to her doctor. After many tests, she was assured that there wasn't anything physically or mentally wrong with me, not anything that the he could find anyway. She asked for a second opinion to be sure, as well as others later, but the answers were always the same. They said I was fine.

But I was never fine.

Friends I made with one side always shied away from the other, eventually leading to separation, avoidance, and loneliness. I was accused of being bipolar more times than I could count. Sent to countless counselors, who told me it was a phase, something I would eventually grow out of.

Like I was consciously doing it. Like this happened to everyone.

I may be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but there was no potion. There was no clearly definable point where I just changed, no switch that was flipped.

The strange thing is that I'm never aware. To me, I'm just Bella. Not Bella A or Bella B. Not the Good Bella or the Bad.

Just me.

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Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

…

Chapter 1

_Looking for scars in all the wrong places_

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I sit alone at lunch. It's alright I guess. I mean, I do like to read and although the cafeteria is so noisy, having people chatter to me is substantially more distracting. Besides, I've kind of perfected the art of tuning background noise out, especially when others treat me with the same level of attentiveness.

I'm reading this book I checked out from the library last week. I know you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but when you're trying to find something amidst a sea of nothings, I guess it doesn't really matter. Anyway, I really liked the cover. The title is printed in different fonts, making it seem random and weird. Kind of like me.

_Anything but Typical_ is about a 12 year old autistic boy named Jason Blake. I really like the writing, and the way he sees the world. I wonder if maybe I could write a book about myself, that people would understand me a little better.

I think their biggest problem is that I'm different. I don't mean this in an '_I'm different and you're all conformists_' kind of way, but more like I don't fit the norms. My "personalities" differ each other so greatly that I guess it's difficult to label me.

Am I quiet and shy, or assertive and loud?

Because you can't be both. Because in the land of the normals, you can't be 3-dimentional. You either are, or you aren't. There's no in-between.

The normals recognize this, but they refuse to accept it. Obsessed with the labels, they label me too. They have a category for the categoryless.

It's called weird.

…

I found my clothes in the toilet. Looks like someone tried to flush them because there's water all over the floor and my favorite jeans are still semi-clogged. My white shirt is kind of yellow and the room smells like piss. I guess someone used the toilet first, or maybe even after.

I'm glad I wore my ring today, rather than leaving it in the pocket of my jeans like I usually do. I don't think I could wear it if I had, leaving tiny flecks of piss imprinted on my skin no matter how many times I scrub the little trinket.

It's kind of awing to walk into the bathroom to find your clothes half flushed because really, who would do such a thing? I thought this kind of stuff only happened in the movies.

I wonder if I'll get pelted with tampons next week…

…

Mom says we're having hamburger helper again. I melodramatically scream, "Oh god why?"

She laughs that really obnoxious laugh of hers and I wonder if the noise is a product of chain smoking, or just crazy.

Dad makes mashed potatoes because yes, he can cook. I like his mashed potatoes, but tonight he's opted to use the boxed kind, which he knows I hate. I would skip dinner if it wasn't one of _those days_ where Mom feels guilty for leaving Dad and decides she wants to have a family dinner.

Mom asks to borrow a shirt and I tell her I lost it. She says I don't take care of my things and that she's never going to buy me anything again. I guess the shirt was expensive. I don't have the heart to tell her it's in the trashcan in the girl's locker room, reeking of piss.

"Did you put butter on these?" I ask because Dad knows I don't like butter on my bread too.

"Yes, I did."

"Oh." I put it back.

"So you're not going to eat it, then?" he asks, all disapproving.

"Nope." I'm picky.

"You know you'll have to grow out of this sometime?" he gestures around.

"Yep." I don't like being picky.

He sighs. I think they think I like being picky.

"What's that?" Mom asks, giving me not even a moment to answer before she sticks her finger in my drink.

"What the hell?" I ask angrily. "Why would you stick your finger in my drink?"

There was only ice left, but we're out of cranberry apple juice. I wanted to suck the ice cubes for residual flavor.

"I thought I saw something in there."

"So you just decided to stick your finger in my drink?" I ask incredulously.

She shrugs and I become even angrier.

"Well, let's see how you like it!"

I stick my finger in her drink. Hers is still half full, so I wipe my finger on a napkin. She looks at me like I'm crazy.

I'm still angry.

She _knows_ I have issues with cleanliness. She _knows_ how much her fingers creep me out. They look like witches' fingers, mangled and gross. She _knows_ I have a fear of my hands turning out the same.

She looks at me like she does when the word bipolar comes up.

_Why _does she have to do that? Why is it bipolar to get angry when someone does something that bothers you? Why can't I be angry without the emotional shift being part of some chemical imbalance?

Why does something have to be wrong with me?

I leave the table and stomp my way up to my room. I lock my door and turn up my stereo because I have no interest in speaking to her.

I realize that getting angry over someone sticking their finger in your drink is a little strange, but I can't stop myself from feeling that way.

I look in the mirror and wonder which person I'm staring at.

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**Author's Note: I apologize if the mention of bipolar disorder or the indirect mention of multiple personality disorder offends anyone. Many people are misinformed when it comes to such disorders. Renee is one of these people.**

**I don't really know what I'm doing with this story. In all likelihood, it'll join the ranks of the abandoned stories. But hey, while I'm updating, I'd appreciate your thoughts. =)**


	2. Fresh Meat in a Stale Town

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just tinkering away with her creations.**

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Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

…

Chapter 2

_Fresh Meat in a Stale Town_

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I'm worried, and rightfully so. The extent of my social life is made more obvious with all the talk of the new kids that has been buzzing around lately. I may be invisible and neglected, but I'm not deaf to the buzzes of all the busy little gossip bees.

Really, the only time I interact is with the people I'm partnered with in class, the one time I'm treated a little less like a leper. Because weirdo or not, everyone loves a good grade and I am the good grade getter.

No one actually _wants_ to be my partner, per se, but let's just say they're only mildly unpleasant when assigned with me.

There are also the teachers, the lunch lady when I order my food, and my parents. Oh and there's Billy's son, although he only graces me with a polite if not disinterested hello. I guess it's not cool for the Reservation's quarterback to fraternize with the weirdo of Forks High. I don't really mind. I'm pretty sure all he cares about is football anyway.

Everyone is so excited at the prospect of new blood. I guess living in such a closed off little town would make even a new yogurt flavor breaking news. Actually, I don't know if anyone really eats yogurt. Maybe a new flavor of beef. Maybe if they found out a brown cow _could_ produce chocolate milk.

If a brown cow could produce chocolate milk, I wonder what their meat would taste like. Chocolate flavored? That wouldn't make sense because white cows don't taste like milk. Then again, we don't even eat cows…

All these thoughts of beef and chocolate milk make me wonder if I should even bother trying to befriend the new students. What's the point really? Let's say I get along with one of them. That's fine and dandy, but when they realize what I am, will they stick around?

This is all inconsequential anyway. Who's to say the shiny new toys will want to play with battered and damaged old me?

…

I glance at the new girl, but quickly look away. I know I'm being one of those people, trying to pretend they're not staring. I don't want to be _a person_, but there really isn't a right way to stare at someone. You can try doing it unabashedly, or try to be covert, but you're still being rude.

Let's dangle something shiny in your face and see you try to ignore it.

You can feign disinterest or latch yourself to them when they surprisingly come up to you, but you know you're only thinking about yourself, and you _do_ care what they think, but not for the right reasons. Because they're new and you're not, and wouldn't it be just grand if they chose _you_ out of the entire school to be their new friend?

It's sickening is what it is.

This is prison and we've just got some fresh meat and _everyone_ wants a piece because you haven't been tainted by the baboons we're forced to coexist with and you haven't been swallowed by monotony.

The worst part about it all is that while you'd like to pretend you're different from the rest, that you actually _see_ these people and not what they could do for you, you're really just like the others. Only you're aware, or you're in denial and _that_ is infinitely worse.

Knowing you're a disgusting maggot is more painful than just being one.

…

"Hi," she says shyly. She's tiny. I could fit her in my pocket.

"Hello." No one says 'hello' anymore.

"So…uh…do I have something in my hair?" she asks.

The crazy spikes must be new. Only a newbie to such styles would be self-conscious about the rebel look. I want to ask her what happened, but I think that'd be rude. I'm ashamed to admit I don't want to ruin this chance to make a friend.

"No, you're just something fresh in an already stale town," I say. Because she is.

She smiles at me, but I can't tell what that means. People smile for all kinds of reasons.

She's walking alongside me as we exit the class. I wonder if it's just a coincidence, or if she's decided to latch onto me. I've had experience with latchers, and things usually go from innocent to hurtful in a hurry. She needs me now because she's lonely and all everyone else will do is stare.

She'll move up though. They always do.

"I'm from Chicago," she says. Because silence doesn't seem to be her thing.

I nod because what is there to say to something like that? I could respond with pointless questions to gain pointless facts neither of us cares about. I feel rude for thinking that, but by the way she spoke about her hometown, it seemed like I was on the right track.

"What's your favorite side?" she asks.

I look at her because that type of question was weird and unexpected.

"The right," I say without thought. It's always been the right.

Yes, I've thought about this before.

"I'm a lefty, through and through," she supplies. "Guess that makes us mortal enemies, doesn't it?"

And then she smirks.

…

I sit at my usual table, but I don't see Alice at lunch that day. I don't bother looking because I can hear her voice carry from another table as she talks about Chicago. I wonder if maybe I had shown an interest in the information she was now providing a new audience that she'd be sitting with me.

Sure, neither of us really cared about her words. But people like to hear themselves speak and sometimes we just want to feel like we're being listened to, even if the words we say leave no lasting impression, or take residence in their memory.

We yearn to be listened to, even if we know we'll only ever be heard.

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	3. The Boy Appears

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just tinkering away with her creations.**

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Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

…

Chapter 3

_The boy appears_

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The boy is sitting next to me.

I can't look at him.

He's cute.

_So I can't look at him_.

His hair looks like fire, flickering in my peripherals. I can feel it burning my skin.

No wait. The heat isn't from his hair.

It's from his eyes.

_He's staring at me_.

I still can't look…can I?

If I look…will he know? Will he see the flames spread across my cheeks? Will he notice the sweat on my palms? The unconscious fidgeting? The heave of my chest?

What the _hell_ is wrong with me?

Often I've wondered if my mother's accusations were correct. I've wondered and I've thought, but until _now_ I never truly believed it a possibility. Sitting here and feeling this, I can't help but think I've gone insane.

This _can't_ be normal.

…

Class ended. He left.

I didn't look.

…

I'm sitting on a bench in the locker room. We were dismissed ages ago, but I'm still just sitting here. I can't understand it. I just can't.

What the _hell_ did I do?

Did I offend someone by breathing? By existing?

Because I rarely talk and when I do, I'm not mean. Even with my differing personalities, I don't think I'm ever mean. I don't think I've done anything to anyone.

And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm blind to my own faults—_ha_—but do I deserve this?

"I'd get revenge," she says, taking a seat beside me.

I don't say anything.

"I used to have long hair," she says. She touches the ends of her spikes in remembrance.

"I went to this party, got drunk, and made out with some guy. I passed out after that. When I woke up, my hair had been chopped of."

I grimace. I may hate myself, but I adore my hair. It's temperamental, but it's long and it's mine. Losing it would be like losing a friend.

"Turns out the guy's girlfriend set the whole thing up. Had him roofie my drink, so she could have some fun. They were only going to dye it black, but apparently the make-out session was not part of the deal."

I wonder if the only thing they tampered with was her hair, but I don't ask that.

"Why?" I ask.

"Why did she have it out for me?" she clarifies. I nod.

"Why is anyone cruel? Insecurity, jealousy… I was head cheerleader. I was popular. She wanted to move up, so she knocked me down."

We were quiet for a moment. I looked down at my ruined clothes and she followed my gaze.

"I got back at them, of course," she smiles for the first time. "You should do the same."

"Maybe," I say. Because I just don't know.

"This isn't the first time this has happened." A statement, not a question.

"Nope."

"Come on," she laughs. Sounds like wind chimes.

…

"_Bellaaaaa_," she sings. I don't remember ever telling her my name.

I don't answer because I'm still not sure.

"It'll be cathartic."

"Did it make you feel any better about what they did to you?" I ask.

"Didn't make me feel any worse," she shrugs. "And they deserve it."

"I'm pretty sure you sat with them at lunch," I say. Because she should realize what helping me will do.

"I've made no allegiances," she smirks.

I laugh.

"Okay."

"Alright. First thing's first."

She pulls a whiteboard out of her bag and begins listing suspects.

This girl is awesome.

…

"This is sick."

"You're the one that came up with this twisted idea," she laughs. "I mean _geez_. Remind me never to piss you off."

"I thought it would be appropriate," I say defensively.

"An eye for an eye?"

"Oh god it's still warm." I'm going to need to take a bath in hand sanitizer after this.

…

"Targets sighted," she whispers.

Lauren and Jessica are walking toward the school with their arms locked. They're giggling and gossiping with loud voices and large open mouths.

Completely unaware.

"You do realize this will likely have unwanted repercussions?"

"Only if we get caught."

"We will."

"Yeah, we will." She doesn't seem to mind.

"Social suicide," I laugh. Because it isn't too late for her to back out.

"I've always been a little self-destructive," she smirks.

We lean forward, hands poised. I quickly measure the trajectory of the balloon with their positions. A slight flick of the wrist should do it.

Bombs away.

Twin shrieks pierce the eardrums of every student within a five mile radius.

"Oh my god! OH MY GOD!" Jessica seems a bit perturbed.

Lauren just stands there, mouth wide open and arms held up. She looks like a zombie. Or maybe one of those body snatchers. We stifle giggles as she inhales deeply and her expression quickly morphs into one of disgust.

"What is that smell?"

Lauren and Jessica both turn to glare at Mike who is standing a few feet away, trying to hold in his laughter.

"Holy crap! You got hit by pee-filled water balloons!" he exclaims suddenly, earning collective screams of anger and disgust from the ones drenched in it.

We giggle.

Lauren looks up.

We duck.

"Do you think she saw us?" she whispers.

Staring at Alice's stylish yet ruined hair I can't help but fear that she might have. While this makes me worry for my hair, I must admit…

I hope she did.

Because she should know that Bella Swan won't be taking anymore of her shit.

_Bella Swan_ was merely in shock the last two days. She couldn't imagine someone had actually flushed her clothes.

But as she— as _I_ look down at Lauren Mallory drowned in piss, I know I'm not done.

Not by a long shot.

…

Alice is practically vibrating with excitement as we approach the only class we have with the Potty Pair. She's somber when I look back at her as she follows me in. I wonder how she could go from hyperactive to laidback in under ten seconds.

I think about accusations and medication and whether she worries about the things I do.

"Watch it," Lauren says when I accidentally kick her backpack.

"Sorry," I say. Stupid polite reflex.

It's not my fault she left it in the middle of the aisle.

"Whatever," she sneers.

"Geez Lauren," I say. Then I smile. "No need to ask pissy."

I can feel her glare on my back and when I sit down and face forward, she's still looking at me. I stare at the board blankly until she turns back around.

My internal monologue is laughing manically.

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	4. Stuck on His Cloud

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just tinkering away with her creations.**

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Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

…

Chapter 4

_Stuck on his cloud_

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Alice doesn't abandon me for the popular table like I expected. Instead, she's sitting across from me eating her lunch and chatting happily. My book lays abandoned on the table as I listen to her talk about everything from clothing to cooties.

She has this theory that Mike Newton has cooties. I laugh so hard I start choking on my soda.

I try not to think about why she's keeping me company. Yesterday she had been swept up in helping me exact my revenge, but I hadn't deluded myself into thinking she'd be my friend. I assumed things would go back to the way they were meant to be by lunchtime. She's still here though—surprise, surprise—but I hope it isn't out of pity.

"Come to the mall with me," she demands.

Yes, she _demands_.

"No," I laugh. Because I may be happy to have a friend, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let her walk all over me.

"You don't get a say in this," she glares.

"I don't have any money for the mall," I say.

"You don't need money just to go," she points out.

"No, but—" She cuts me off.

"Please? I'm new and I don't have any friends and I need help picking out clothes—" I cut her off.

"Well now we both know that's a lie."

"So?" she laughs.

I shrug.

"Come with me, or I'm telling the Toilet Twins who to thank for their flush."

"Are you blackmailing me?" I ask incredulously.

She grins, mouth wide and teeth gleaming.

"Wow... You want me to go that bad?" I ask in wonder.

She nods seriously.

"Aww. I'm touched."

I agree to go because I really am touched.

"You're diabolical," I mock glare.

She's about to comment when suddenly it isn't just us and I've lost the ability to speak.

"Hey, Edward," she says.

He nods at her in return.

"This is Bella," she says to him.

He looks at me curiously.

Oh crap. I'm looking at him.

"Yeah," Alice answers some question I didn't hear.

…

_Lock eyes from across the room…_

Edward runs his fingers through his hair.

_Down my drink while the rhythms boom…_

Edward sighs.

_Take your hand and skip the names… No need here for the silly games…_

Edward lays his arms on the table.

_Make our way through the smoke and crowd… The club is the sky and I'm on your cloud… _

Edward leans forward, resting his jaw on his joined hands.

_Move in close and the lasers fly… _

The stack of worksheets has been passed back to our table and as we both reach for it—

_Our bodies touch and the angels cry…_

I quickly snatch my hand back and try to hold it in, but it's of no use.

A snort slips out.

He stares at me strangely and I try to figure out why that look hurts more when it's coming from him.

Jesus.

I must be losing it.

…

"Did you rob a bank?" I ask as I slide into her yellow Porsche.

She laughs.

"My parents have more money than they have time to get to know their kids. So I guess this is their substitute for parental love."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They're just using their surplus to fill the void," her lips are pursed.

"I feel like there should be a cigarette in your mouth while you say that," I laugh. Suddenly I realize what I said is a bit weird and I don't know Alice well enough to say things like that.

Stupid malfunctioning brain filter.

Instead of receiving that look I expected to see, she laughs and I'm amazed she got what I was saying.

"Sometimes I do too," she admits. "But I'm the daughter of a doctor. Even though he's too busy to notice much, I'm paranoid that he would. Besides, I was a cheerleader and needed to stay healthy."

"I guess coughing up phlegm at the top of the pyramid wouldn't have been a pretty sight."

She laughs, but it's kind of sad.

"Somehow I think they would've preferred that to the spikes," she waves her free hand around her head.

"Is that why you moved?" I ask.

She laughs, but doesn't answer me.

And goddamn it if I wasn't actually curious.

…

"Should I get this band tee?" she asks.

We're in the store that's meant to be for rebels, but it's so obvious, that it just isn't. I like most of what I see though and I wonder if that makes me a poser and if so, what exactly am I posing as?

"Depends. Are you a fan?"

She rolls her eyes. "Of course I'm a fan. Why else would I want the shirt?"

"Can you name ten of their songs?"

Her brows are furrowed and I decide to cut her some slack.

"Can you at least recognize ten of their songs?" I ask instead.

She stares at me blankly and I'm not sure if it's because she's thinking about the songs, or whether she should just leave me stranded in Port Angeles for being a music snob.

She puts the shirt back.

"Huh," she says, thinking.

Then she notices the shirt in my hands.

"Thought you weren't going to buy anything?" she smirks.

I sigh.

"Do you know ten of their songs?" she asks curiously.

"_Gasoline_, _Wishing Well_, _Papillon, Does This Mean You're Moving On, Sometime Around Midnight_—" She cuts me off.

"Okay, okay," she laughs. "You know the songs, but do you know the words?" she challenges.

Normally I don't sing in public. I'm much too shy for that. But _this_ is a challenge. And I _don't_ back down from challenges.

"_And she emerged from the dark like a ghost in my head… She said I haven't forgot any words that you said… I just stare at the clocks and I cry in my sleep and I tear up your letters and I burn them in heaps and I…_" deep breath, "_gather the ashes in that hole in the ground where we fell…_"

She follows me to the register as I pull out my wallet to pay for the shirt I couldn't resist buying. The guy at the register smiles at me as he slips my shirt into a bag.

"Are you a fan?" he asks, glancing at the bag.

"She's definitely a fan," Alice nods solemnly.

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**Author's Note: The first set of lyrics is from The Lonely Island's **_**Jizz in my Pants.**_** The second is from The Airborne Toxic Event's **_**Wishing Well**_**.**

**The chapters for this story are always so short because that's the way this one moves. I realize that with short chapters, readers are far less likely to review, so I really appreciate the ones that do. I still love all you silent ones though. =)**


	5. The Little Things

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just tinkering away with her creations.**

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Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

…

Chapter 5

_The little things_

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"Are you sure there isn't anyone you need to call?" I ask.

"No," she laughs.

"I wouldn't want you to get into trouble…"

"They won't notice."

"Oh."

We're sitting cross legged on my floor, playing a game of Monopoly. Maybe that's lame, but it turns out we both love the game.

"Ha! Suck it bitch!" I laugh, cradling my prized property to my chest.

"Well the game's basically over now," she pouts.

I grin because that's true.

"You could make a comeback…"

"Don't patronize me. You own all the blue, green, and yellow properties. I have no hope."

"Nope," I grin.

Alice refuses to play anymore after she lands on Boardwalk twice, which just so happened to have a hotel. _Both_ times. I offered to put her on a payment plan if she didn't have enough money to pay, but I guess that just wasn't appealing to her.

Charlie comes home from work and I just get this desperate urge to leave the house.

"Wanna go outside?" I ask.

She looks at me curiously, but nods without protest.

At least, she didn't protest until we're outside and I'm walking toward the trees.

"Wait, wait, wait. You expect _me_ to go in _there_ while the sky is like _that_?" she points up.

"You mean…dark?" I hold in my laughter.

She ignores me, shaking her head.

"Nope. No way."

I try to convince her that it isn't that bad, but she cuts me off.

"The hair may make me look all '_fuck the world_' but I'm not."

"Neither am I," I point out.

"Yeah, but you've got this…_I don't know_," she waves her hands around and I'm a little frustrated that she's so vague. "I don't. I'm not tough. On the inside, I'm all soft and gooey—"

"Like a marshmallow?" I raise an eyebrow.

She huffs.

"I come from Chicago. The land of lights and muggers and concrete."

"Well you're in the land of trees now…so let's go exploring."

I grab her hand and gently tug her toward the trees.

"If I die, I'm haunting your ass," she says seriously.

I laugh.

"There aren't any muggers out here," I say, making fun of her babbling.

She rolls her eyes.

"I'm not afraid of muggers. I'm afraid of some mangy creature taking a chomp out of my leg."

Her eyes cloud over and she grips my hand tighter, likely imagining just that.

…

"What happened to you?" Charlie mumbles from his recliner.

His eyes don't stray from the television screen.

"Nothing. Did you pick up dinner?" I ask.

"On the kitchen table," he mumbles.

There's a half eaten pizza sitting on the table. I grab two plates and hand one to her. We split the remainder up silently and each carry a soda back up to my room.

"Is he always like that?" she asks.

"Yeah," I nod.

I open my can and take a large gulp.

She follows my lead because she just _knows_ what it feels like.

…

"You don't have to sleep down there, you know."

I'm leaning over the side of the bed.

She's next to me in ten seconds flat.

"Thank god. I was dying down there," she laughs.

"Why didn't you say something?" I ask.

I tried to offer her the bed, but she declined.

"I didn't want to take away your bed and I didn't know if you were secure."

For a little person, she sure uses a lot of blankets.

"Secure?" I frown.

"Secure with your sexuality. Some girls freak out if you accidentally touch hands, let alone sleep in the same bed."

"I don't mind, unless you grope in your sleep. Then you'd wind up on the floor," I laugh.

"Pssshhh. If you got groped by me, you'd be singing," she smirked.

"I'm sorry, but that ship has sailed. Ever since I saw you in action in the forest," I manage to say with a straight face.

"Oh fuck you!" she smacks my arm.

It hurts, but I can't stop laughing.

…

"_Ohhhhh_."

I am rustling in my drawers for clothes. I look up.

"_Bellaaaaaa_."

I can't tell if it's a moan from pain, or pleasure.

I'm a little scared.

"Alice?" I ask quietly.

"_I need…_"

"What do you need?"

I'm looking at her like she's a bomb about to go off.

"_Caffeine_," she moans.

"If you get ready quick enough, we can make a quick stop at Starbucks," I smirk.

She sits up abruptly.

"You guys have _Starbucks_?" she asks, eyes wide.

Her hair is flat on one side while it sticks out chaotically on the other.

Oh god.

"What?" she asks.

I can't hold it in.

"You look like a troll doll!" I blurt out, cackling.

And I keep laughing, even as she smacks me repeatedly in the face with my own pillow.

"If it weren't for Starbucks, I would end you," she laughs.

I love Starbucks. I don't feel alive unless I'm sufficiently caffeinated. I'm sure that means I have an addiction, but hey, at least I'm not on drugs. Besides, there are so many things in life that we aren't supposed to do because it's bad for us. But if we lived like we were supposed to, we wouldn't really be living, would we?

Someone once said that life is just about the little things. If you monitored every little thing you do just to make sure it won't harm you in some way, aren't you just depriving yourself of the things that make life bearable?

And hell. Life is already so freaking unbearable. Why make it worse?

Alice is gazing at her drink like it's her lover. She seems to be paying it more attention than the road and I try not to let that bother me, though it still does. She smirks at me knowingly because Alice doesn't seem to miss much.

Then she's back to guzzling her drink like she's afraid someone is going to snatch it from her hands before she can finish.

Xxx 0.0 xxX


	6. Security Blanket

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just tinkering away with her creations.**

**A/N: Yeah so...the plot will be coming along soon...I think. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter. **

Xxx 0.0 xxX

Moonlight, Mayonnaise and Maggots

…

Chapter 6

_Security blanket_

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"Hey Alice!"

I look to Jessica as she trots her way to us, and then to Alice.

"Okay, so guess what," she says excitedly to Alice. She gives me a pointed look.

"What?" Alice asks.

And the interest in her voice is what spurs me into action.

I walk away.

…

I feel like shit. I knew this would happen, but still…I feel this way. I knew it was only a matter of time before Alice left my side. I don't know why I let myself get attached. I wondered if she'd tell Jessica that it was me who had basically dumped piss on them.

I knew it would be just _me_, too. Because there's no way someone would admit to being my accomplice.

I feel stupid. I let her in my house and I let my brain filter drop and now that she had been _beckoned_ by _them_, she is done with me.

…

I sat down and opened my book, ready to lose myself in another world that has its own problems.

"Well thanks for abandoning me."

I look up in shock as Alice takes a seat across from me. She is glaring.

I just stare at her.

"What?"

This just seems to piss her off more.

"What do you mean what? You left me with _Jessica_. Now that was just cruel."

I was not expecting this.

"I thought you wanted to talk to her…" I say slowly.

"Ah yes. Because the look of sheer agony on my face revealed nothing of my pain."

She is being so dramatic.

Now I am laughing.

"This isn't funny," she whines, throwing a grape at me.

It bounces off my nose.

"I'm sorry," I say finally. "I really thought you wanted to talk to her and she was kind of giving me the '_get lost'_ look."

"Maybe we should come up with a code word or something," she sighs.

Before I can start throwing out suggestions, her brother is sliding into the seat next to her. I divert my gaze like it's a reflex—because who the hell am I kidding, it already is—and choose to stare at my book instead.

"Hey Edward," she says.

And I'm just so tired of being awkward.

"Hi."

I say it so timidly, my voice almost as quiet as a whisper. It sounds all croaky like it's my first time speaking today even though it isn't. I glance up quickly to see his reaction.

He's staring at the table.

I frown at the dismissal, wondering what I did.

Alice, ever one to fill up silences, does just that. Of course, I'm much too preoccupied with my thoughts to _really_ pay attention.

"So how about it?" she asks.

And because I don't want her to suspect anything, to notice the way her brother's actions or _inactions_ are picking at me, I do something I'm surely going to regret.

I say yes.

And goodie for me because it's something I really don't feel like doing.

…

It's late and I just finished a midnight snack. I'm taking the knife I used into the kitchen, walking with purpose and the knife poised. This is when I notice Charlie reclined in his chair asleep and my gaze darts back to the knife.

It would be so easy for me to kill him right now. I mean, I love my dad and I never would do something as horrific as plunge a butter knife into his throat, but what if I wasn't myself? What if I went insane and I _were_ able to do something like that?

It's thoughts like these that keep me from falling asleep so carelessly like that.

Then I think, how is this any different than letting Alice sleep in my bed? And how messed up is it that I'm having these thoughts at all? Have I already gone psychotic? Is this Mr. Hyde?

I shake the thoughts from my head, chuckling to myself as Charlie stirs.

"What'd you eat?" he asks gruffly.

He's always so curious when it comes to food.

"Nothing," I say just to goad him.

His eyes are still closed, but I know he's getting frustrated with the way his eyebrows dip just a bit.

"I can smell it," he says.

You'd think the Chief of Police would be able to solve the mystery of what I ate with such a keen sense of smell. Maybe if he had opened his eyes, he would have with _sight_.

This town is lucky it has such a low crime rate.

"Did it smell good or bad?" I ask. Because there's nothing more that I love than being difficult.

He grumbles something angrily under his breath, but he's so sleepy that it just makes me snicker.

"Tell me if it was good or bad, and I'll tell you what it was."

"Good," he answers eventually. Unhappily.

Like he was so put out.

"Lunchable," I smile, turning to climb the stairs.

"Lunchable?" I hear him ask in confusion as I shut my door.

…

This is the moment where all those thoughts you suppress all day just come swimming back in, fighting the tide called sleep. Because it's only when you're trying to relax and let go that they can take over.

I can't sleep with the ruckus in my brain, so consumed with his silence and his face.

I'm wired and restless and just so damn pissed that I'm thinking about the boy at all. There isn't a reason for it. So what if he ignored me? I basically ignored him too. In fact, I started it.

Was I this hypocritical to expect him to acknowledge me, when I did not show him the same courtesy?

And why the hell does he need to see me anyway? No one sees me. Not really. I'm used to it and I've even come to crave it like a security blanket, I think.

A stupid, too warm and too stifling security blanket that chokes just as much as it protects.

Xxx 0.0 xxX


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